Following the Rules
by pinkdigi
Summary: She hates Harry Potter for making her bitter. [HG oneshot, postHBP]


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

**_The Morning After _took place in mid-July, and this takes place in December (obviously).**

**Following the Rules  
**……………………………………………………………

Ginny sighs. She hates Christmas.

Well, no. That isn't true. She usually loves Christmas.

_Usually _is the key word, though.

Maybe she would love this one, too, if the circumstances were different.

Maybe she would love this one an _extra _little bit, if she hadn't just broken up with Harry yesterday.

Really, though, the term "broken up" cannot apply. They didn't "break". If anything, they "shattered into a million pieces".

But the fact remains the same. And because of this, Ginny finds that she is lacking in the holiday spirit department. She hates the sodding Christmas tree in the middle of The Burrow's living room, and she hates the blasted lights that are tackily displayed on the house's exterior. She hates that everyone else is having such a fabulous time. She hates that Hermione and Ron are so bloody happy and she is really starting to hate the way Ron rubs his hand over Hermione's still-flat belly, as if they are a walking poster ad for a wonderful life. She hates the fact that they _are _just that, and she hates that she is bitter, because she really has no business being bitter. She hates Harry Potter for making her bitter.

And she really, _really _hates the fact that Harry has grown to be part of the family, because he is currently sitting a few feet away from her, having a Butterbeer with Ron and chatting away with Bill and Charlie. Ginny cannot believe his nerve. Talking up _her _family as if _he _was the one bound by _blood_, a substance _thicker than water_, which, evidently, is a fact that her entire family has conveniently forgotten for the time being.

Ginny wants to remind them.

She wants to scream, _All of you wankers are supposed to be on MY side_, but knows that she cannot, because she would like to get through this breakup with as much dignity and grace as she can muster.

Not that she really possessed much of either of those to begin with.

Besides, she sort of shot that all to hell when she … oh, gods, she shudders in remembering _how _she destroyed her relationship with Harry, the love of her life, the one she has always and will always want more than anything, the one who, surely, has no doubt stopped feeling anything other than pity for her now.

Harry looks up at her and catches her eye. She smiles faintly – civilly – at him, because she has to. She must follow the rules, the proper _breakup etiquette_, as she mentally calls it.

She followed it with Michael and Dean, and with that idiot, _whatshisname_, who she dated for a year and a half after Voldemort's downfall, the one she gave her virginity to because she figured Harry would never want it. And she followed it with the handful of boyfriends she has had since then.

Yes, she will not stoop so low as to lose her head over Harry Potter, the man currently watching her intently, as if she were to disappear into thin air if he so much as blinked. A part of her is pleading for him to blink so she can disappear already.

She will not lower herself to scream at him in front of her family as they all enjoy Christmas, a holiday that Ginny would very much like to forget about entirely for this year and all future years, too.

Besides, she doesn't _really _want to scream at Harry. It isn't his fault that her mother, the closest thing to a mother that he has ever had, all but _forced _him to drop by The Burrow for Christmas dinner. As her mother said, Harry hadn't even planned on coming because of the breakup. And, to his credit, when he walked in behind Fred and George, he gave her a meaningful look, as if apologizing for showing up.

No, she would much rather kiss him. She would much rather grab his hand and subtly – or hell, not-so-subtly would work just as well – drag him off to her old bedroom, the one she had fantasized about him in for so many years.

All that time, he'd been sleeping on the floor above her, in Ron's room. Gods, so many nights she wondered what would happen if he would just wake up, suddenly thirsty for a glass of water, and would trudge down the stairs to the kitchen, only to stop at the third floor, where Ginny would be waiting for him.

But, damn, Hermione was always asleep in the bed next to her.

Ginny sighs a second time, because she knows that she will never again have the chance to be with Harry, to re-enact one of her schoolgirl fantasies about him, the ones that are _so _much better in real life.

It has been just over twenty-four hours since their breakup, and Ginny is already longing for the feel of his skin against hers. She is pathetic … And horribly, horribly randy.

But it isn't just those sorts of things that she misses about Harry. She misses being able to talk to him, to watch him as he reads the morning paper. She misses the way he makes breakfast – when she tried this morning at Ron and Hermione's flat (where she will be staying until she can find a new, Harry-free place to live) it didn't taste the same, though she was sure she followed the same recipe. And she certainly doesn't fancy showering alone, something she had to do this morning.

She tries not to smile when she remembers one particular encounter with Harry in their shower, two days ago, before the breakup. They stayed under the spray until well after their fingers resembled prunes. Ginny _does _smile then, because she no longer lives there and it will be Harry who has to pay the water bill, and even though this is a small consolation, it is still a consolation, nonetheless. She is pathetic, as she has already realized, and she will take what she can get.

'C'mon … Let's open up the presents already!' Ron says impatiently, and Ginny laughs genuinely because Christmas had always been _his _holiday when they were kids, the one day of the year that he got up earlier than anyone else in their house. But then she stops laughing, reminding herself that she isn't very pleased with Ron at the moment. Shouldn't he be incredibly hacked off at his best mate for breaking his sister's heart? Shouldn't he at least _pretend _that he cares the _slightest _bit about his only sister's happiness?

Everyone agrees with Ron and soon they are tearing into their packages, sending bows and ribbons and wrapping paper flying every which way. Ginny opens each of her presents with a forced smile, hugging her family members in thanks, but she is unaware of what she has received as her gifts – a book from Hermione and gag gifts from the twins among them, no doubt. The only thing she is aware of is the set of emerald eyes she can feel on the back of her head.

Ginny is disappointed when she doesn't receive a present from Harry, although she should have expected it, considering she did not give him one, either. It isn't as if she didn't buy him one, because she did – one that nearly emptied her vault at Gringotts, although she thought it was worth it at the time – but she didn't bother to bring it today. First thing tomorrow, she realizes with a heavy heart, she will have to go to the store and try to return it.

She is torn. She wants Harry to have his gift no matter what has happened between them, but, really, if they are going to go their separate ways after tonight, she might as well get her hard-earned Galleons back.

She has until tomorrow morning to decide, she tells herself, and then grabs a Butterbeer. She takes a long swing, and when she swallows, it burns slightly. She smiles because she knows that Fred and George have spiked the drinks with Firewhisky, and she vaguely wonders why her mother hasn't blasted them for it before realizing that her mum is on her fourth "Butterbeer".

Well, it's Christmas. And even though it doesn't really mean anything to _her_ at the moment, it is clearly something to the rest of her family, because they are having a great party, all of them (except a three-week pregnant Hermione) well on their way to getting drunk.

Someone gave her mum a new album full of Christmas songs as a gift, and when her mum cranks them up, Ginny is not the only one who cringes. But nobody says anything _because it's Christmas_, so Ginny sits back and tries not to scream as everyone starts making small talk or singing along to the slightly-too-loud music.

Getting up from her spot – fully aware that she is being a downer but finding that she is unable to care at the moment – she retreats into the kitchen, where she greedily gulps down the rest of her Butterbeer/Firewhisky concoction.

'Why the long face?' she hears a voice, one that can only belong to Harry, ask her.

She nearly jumps. Instead, she turns around slowly to look at him, hating the way her heart breaks even more at the sight of him, standing in front of her and all but literally waving an olive branch in her stupid face.

'Take a wild guess,' she says blandly, wishing she could wait until she has a few more "Butterbeers" in her stomach before continuing this conversation.

'Hmm …' Harry says, and for a moment he appears to actually be thinking about it. 'Would it have anything to do with Fred and George's gift?'

The way he says it makes her wish she had paid attention, because she is suddenly very curious as to what they gave her.

'No.'

'Does it have to do with work?'

Oh, she knows what's going on. Harry's playing a game. He's messing with her. Well, she is messed up enough as it is, thank you.

'I wish.'

'Well, I'm stumped,' Harry declares, hopping up onto the kitchen counter. 'Why don't you just tell me?'

'Why should I do that?' she asks, sounding angry even though somewhere inside she is screaming at herself to just stop with the attitude and apologize to him already.

'Because,' he says, as if he hasn't noticed her tone, 'we're best friends, Gin. And I can't very well be a best friend and help you out if you won't tell me what's got your knickers all in a twist.'

Ginny fights the eye roll at his less-than-poetic statement.

'Fine, _best friend_,' she says disdainfully, leaning up against the kitchen table. 'If you must know, I just had a … a messy breakup, and I'm not exactly into all this "Christmas Cheer" rubbish right now.'

Harry nods understandingly. 'Well, if it helps, you're probably better off without whoever that bloke is,' he says seriously.

'Oh?'

'Yeah,' he says. 'I mean, I can't say for sure since I've never met him, but he sounds like a right idiot for letting you go. And you deserve to be with someone smart.'

Ginny hates the smile that breaks across her face.

'I, uh, didn't exactly give him the chance to do anything other than let me go,' she says honestly.

She hates that she can't just come right out and admit she was wrong.

'I might've gone a little nutty on him and chucked a couple blunt objects in his general direction,' she says with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Harry chuckles good-naturedly. 'Ah, yeah, but I bet he knew the risks when he first decided to get involved with a Weasley,' he says.

She hates the way they dance around each other, going in pointless, idiotic circles.

'Do you miss him?' Harry asks, and Ginny is momentarily caught off-guard.

'Not really,' she says dryly. When Harry frowns, she sighs deeply and says, 'I wouldn't be moping out here all alone if I didn't miss him.'

'You aren't alone,' says Harry. 'I'm out here moping, too.'

Sensing her moment, Ginny clears her throat. 'And what're you moping over?'

'Same sort of situation, actually,' Harry explains. 'This bird I was living with went a little nutty on me and chucked a couple blunt objects in my general direction.'

Ginny smiles. 'I hope you weren't hurt.'

'Nah, don't worry,' he says breezily. 'I should've seen it coming, anyway. She always said she hated that Muggle toaster I bought. Said she just wanted to chuck it against the wall. Course, I was off my arse in love with her, so I never really thought she was serious until she was aiming for the patch of wall behind my head.'

Ginny hates the way her mouth is so dry, even though she just drained an entire bottle.

'You _were _in love with her?' Ginny asks before she can stop herself.

'No. I suppose that just came out wrong. I still am. Always will be, I guess. But it doesn't much matter now … does it?'

Ginny shrugs and drops her gaze to the floor.

'Yeah, I figured that's how it would be,' he says.

'I … I'm … glad you weren't hurt by that hysterical ex-girlfriend of yours,' is what she says in response, and Harry is silent for a moment.

'Of course not,' he says. 'I happen to have amazing reflexes from Quidditch.'

Ginny rolls her eyes. 'Yeah? Then how come last time we all had ourselves a game in the backyard, I caught the Snitch right out from under your nose?'

Harry appears unfazed. 'It wouldn't have been the gentlemanly thing to do if I didn't let you win.'

'_Let _me win?' Ginny demands in a light and playful tone, her hands finding their way to her hips. 'Is that what you think happened? Well, Potter, you are sadly mistaken.'

'Is that so?'

'Yeah! Ron _still _hasn't stopped taking the mickey out of you for that … there's no way you were just being gentlemanly,' she says. 'Admit it.'

Harry's eyes hold that familiar glint that gets her heart pounding. 'I admit to nothing. Besides, I've beaten you plenty of other times. Ron will vouch for that.'

Ginny shrugs. 'Speaking of Ron,' she says. 'What've you done to him?'

'What do you mean?'

'Have you forgotten how he nearly tracked down my last boyfriend to beat him to a bloody pulp after we broke up?' she says, the former lightness of her tone being replaced with something else. 'I don't expect him to try and give you the beating of your lifetime or anything, but ...'

Harry's shoulders square slightly, signaling that he understands that the dance is over and they are now directly speaking of their failed attempt at a relationship.

'Ron and I have a bet,' says Harry. 'He bet me that … that we'd, um, be back together by New Year's Eve.'

'And – and what did you bet him?' she asks, her throat thick.

Harry grins. 'I bet him that we'd be back together by the time tonight is over.'

For a moment, Ginny doesn't know what to say to that.

'Oh,' she says lamely.

'Yeah,' he says.

'So … what tricks do you have up your sleeve to win this bet?'

Harry slides off the counter and takes a few steps toward her, so close that she can almost feel the heat of his body against hers. 'Maybe we can go home and I'll take my shirt off, and you can check my sleeves out for yourself.' His thumb is tracing from her jaw down to her neck and she's having a hard time forming proper sentences in her mind.

'Huh? Oh … yeah … that sounds … good.'

'Of course, you'll need to take yours off, too,' says Harry. 'I am, after all, a firm believer in equality and all that other rubbish.' Ginny smiles at him. 'So, what do you say? D'you want to go home?'

Ginny shivers. 'Home?' she asks, her heart hammering against her ribs, her hopes raising despite the fact that she is ordering herself to remain indifferent.

'Yeah,' says Harry. 'You know, the place where we eat and sleep and shag.' He winks and Ginny knows that she isn't the only one thinking about that last point.

'But … wait what? I don't get it.'

'Then you're more like Ron than I thought,' Harry jokes, leaning forward to brush his lips against hers. 'This is stupid, Gin. I don't want to fight. Come home with me.' He's sucking on her neck now, biting down lightly, and how can she say no?

'Let me get my coat,' she says.

Harry keeps at her neck and she eventually has to use her fingers – which are tangled in his hair – to pull him away from her.

After grabbing their coats (and not bothering to say goodbye to everyone), Ginny and Harry Floo back to their flat.

'D'you want your present now?'

Ginny doesn't want anything other than what's pressing against her thigh, but she swallows and manages a quick half-nod.

Harry disappears into his – _their _– bedroom, and emerges with one hand behind his back.

'Here,' he says, handing her a small box.

Ginny stares at it.

'You're going to have to use your hands to open it … Unless you've suddenly learned how to do things by staring,' he tells her.

'What – Harry … what is this?' she asks, fully aware that her hand is shaking, but she is unable to keep it steady.

'Open it.'

'I … are we even back together?' she asks.

Harry shrugs. 'I don't know. But I still want you to have this. Maybe it'll help you decide.'

Ginny is frozen on the spot for several seconds before she snaps out of it and slowly opens the box.

'I bought it over a month ago. I … I wanted to do it then, but I figured you'd be more inclined to say yes if I got you good and drunk on Christmas,' Harry says, and he sounds as if he is only half-kidding. 'Um, but then we fought and … you know … so if you say no, I … well, I'll probably have to kill myself. But I'll understand. Gin?'

She can only stand there like an idiot and nod her head furiously, feeling her eyes tear up as Harry slides the ring on her finger and kisses her.

'Say it,' he says when they part. 'I need to hear you say it.'

'Ask me. I need to hear you ask me.'

'Will you marry me?'

Her breath catches in her throat because this moment could not be more perfect, and she is suddenly so glad for their fight because it only makes the story even better for when she tells Hermione tomorrow. Or maybe it would have been perfect anyway, because she's Ginny and he's Harry, and this is just how it's supposed to be.

'Yes. Harry. Yes.'

It isn't _correct_, and she vaguely wonders what her mother would think if she could see her now.

You are supposed to date before falling in love, and you are supposed to fall in love before shagging. You are supposed to shag before moving in together (this is what Ginny thinks … honestly, it isn't the Dark Ages anymore). You are supposed to move in together before getting engaged.

But she and Harry shagged first, then moved in together, then dated, then fell in love (or did they fall in love first?) … then broke up, and, er, then got engaged.

So Ginny laughs, because maybe it isn't _correct_, and maybe it isn't _following the rules_, but when, really, have she and Harry ever followed the rules?

'Are you grinning like an idiot because I'm going to be Mrs Ginny Potter?' she asks Harry, loving the way that name sounds.

'Nah,' Harry says cheekily. 'I'm grinning because Ron owes me fifty Galleons.'

Ginny taps his watch. 'It's past midnight. I guess neither of you win.'

'C'mon,' says Harry, leaning in to kiss her neck, knowing that it is her weakness. 'We'll tell him it happened at quarter to. I'll buy you something pretty with my winnings.'

'Oh, you already bought me something pretty,' she says, admiring her ring as Harry throws her over his shoulder and carries her off to bed.

……………………………………………………………

**For Bogloshi, with love.**

**Merry Christmas, everyone! Don't forget to review.**

**I seriously doubt there will be another part to this. Perhaps a wedding, if I find the motivation, but don't hold your breath.**


End file.
